A Rose for the King
by TCMMerida
Summary: Mulan, a renown assassin from China, is captured and put into a German prison when she is on her way to perform an assassination in France. Seeing this as an opportunity to free herself, Merida seeks out Mulan to form an alliance between China and Scotland. The two soon discover that the mission they are on will end up costing them far more than either had anticipated.


Prologue:

The principles of an assassin: you must stay calm. An assassin must remain calm in the face of all trials and unpredictable circumstances; if you fail to stay calm, you may fail to keep your head. Poise: an assassin must know his or her weapon as if it was a part of their own body and must wield it with equal grace and ability. Punctuality: an assassin must always be able to choose the precise moment of when to kill.

Mulan repeated these creeds in her head as she urged on her horse. The night air was cool, and mist circled around the hooves of her horse as she guided through the tangled branches of the forest. She had long since forgotten how many days had passed since she left China; time itself had melted into an unforgiving pattern of riding, resting, remounting and galloping. The steady incline in the woods told her that she must be nearing the foothills of the mountains soon enough.

Her horse gave a soft whiny, and Mulan brushed her hand across the coarse fur of the creature. He was warm and glistening with dew from the late evening hours.

"Woah," she breathed. Pulling back on the reigns, she slowed the horse's pace from a canter to a trot, edging it into a slow walk. Dismounting the horse, she swiftly tied a knot to a nearby oak tree. Attaching her sword to her hip, she grabbed her water pouch and began scouting for water. The thick forest had to survive somehow, which meant that there was likely a river or pond nearby. Her eyes scanned the openings in the wood and moved forward.

The dew was heavy now, soaking Mulan's tights and slippers as she moved through the crowded grass. Various rocks and fallen branches obscured her path, forcing her body to move in a foolish manner to avoid falling into any cracks or crevices. Gingerly, she reached for a branch above her and swung her legs up to grab onto as a koala would. She spun herself around, her arms scraping against the bark, pulling her onto the branch and into the tree. Reaching for the next branch and the next, Mulan proceeded to climb higher and higher until she had a decent view of the wood below.

Thickets, roses, rocks, moss, and branches composed of the clustered carpet below, while the branches intertwined to create a web of trees which blocked the main path Mulan intended to travel. Grunting with frustration, she descended from her observation point and continued her search for water.

What felt like an hour later, she turned her eyes to the rising moon. It had moved significantly, and Mulan could feel that her tongue was becoming a desert. More searching proved to be in vain, and she decided to rest on a rock. It was damp, but only because of the dew. She hungrily cupped a leaf in her hand and sipped the dew off the plant. Another after another, she collected as much liquid as she could, feasting on the little amount she could find. She could not afford to die, not when she had to administer death to another.

Still unsatisfied, she returned to her horse who was kicking at the flies which buzzed around his ankles. He was thinner than when they had left China, underfed and overworked. She untied the knot and ran her fingers across his pelt until they grasped the reigns, and with a firm tug, she swung her leg into the straddle and hoisted herself on top of the animal. The horse whined in protest, swishing its tail angrily.

"Easy now," she whispered. "We'll find water soon."

Urging him onward, Mulan began riding uphill. As the earth inclined, she scanned the forest floor for patches of moss or puddles of water – anything that would indicate a water source nearby. The horse nickered softly as the two of them continued to search.

The sky began to lighten, and Mulan had yet to see any sign of water. Frustrated and dehydrated, she pressed the horse onward. It couldn't be far until the next town. If she had successfully stayed her course, she would be passing through Germany very soon – there were villages which would have water.

The thudding of the hooves lulled Mulan's senses, as the sun broke the darkness of the night. She squinted as she breached the top of a hill, looking down into a valley. Clusters of trees obscured what lay below, however, she spotted a stream of thin smoke escaping from the thickets. A grin burst across her face – where there were people, there was water!

"Yah!" She cried, digging her heels into the horse. The creature moved forward, likely sensing the urgency and excitement she had. Soon enough, the dawn was eclipsed by pine branches and fern bushes. The plants brushed Mulan's arms as she tugged on the reins, guiding the horse through the woods. The fresh smell of dew intoxicated her lungs, driving her senses mad. The air was cool and damp, clinging to her cloak which was filled with burrs and other foliage. Mulan's focus remained on what her body needed to survive.

The horse galloped into a clearing where a small yet steady stream danced through the pebbles and clumps of grass. Hardly pausing to check her surrounding, she threw herself off the horse, collapsed at the river and thrust her mouth into the water. It was not deep, perhaps a hand width in depth, but that did not affect the sweetness of the mountain water. She drank deeply, savouring each gulp with a refreshed appreciation for its revitalizing energy. The satisfying neighing of her horse told her that he was pleased with the water as well.

Her other senses blurred, and after a few seconds, she was satisfied. She fumbled for her waist, failing to look around her, and twisted off the cap of the water sac. She dipped the sac into the stream and watched as it caught the water. Content with the amount that was in it, she put on the cap and lifted her eyes upward into the end of a barrel.

A musket was pointed directly at her eyes. She traced the barrel to the hand that was holding it, then up the arm and to the face of a man. The morning light streaming from behind him masqueraded the details of his face, but she knew enough that she was not receiving a warm welcome.

"Eindringling!" he yelled.

Mulan leaped to her feet and scrambled backward towards her horse but felt the cold touch of another barrel.

"Halt," the same man called. Now that he had moved, it was easier to tell who she was at mercy of. He wore a symbol, a yellow crest with a rising blackbird. His harsh words and thick accent confirmed what she knew – she had made it to Germany, but it did not look like she'd be leaving.

 _First principle of an assassin_ , she thought. _Stay calm._


End file.
